


Make Your Own Way Back

by Kastaka



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kastaka/pseuds/Kastaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the post-battle meal, Bruce starts running again; but Clint is there to catch him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Your Own Way Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [florahart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/gifts).



"If you'd been willing to cause an incident," Bruce explains patiently, "there's no way that would have just been a warning shot."

They are now sitting in a very backstreet cafe - the kind of place that is essentially someone's living room hastily adapted for the occasional stray customer - and Bruce still has one eye on his stolen motorbike out of the window, because he knows how easily it could become re-stolen.

"I think New York's had enough incidents for one day," replies Hawkeye, his bowl of limp noodles and unidentified meat fragments untouched in front of him.

"Are you going to ask me why I ran?" asks Bruce, evenly.

"I figure either you'll tell me yourself," replies Hawkeye, stirring the soup noodles suspiciously as punctuation, "or you wouldn't tell me at all."

Bruce sighs, takes a mouthful of soup, and savours it. He's tried starving to death, and the results are even less pleasant than eating a bullet. Maybe he could say that to Hawkeye, a non-sequitur to throw him off balance - "How many superheroes can also say they are cannibals?" 

But he doesn't. After long enough that any normal human being would have looked away, with Hawkeye still watching him with that level, unblinking gaze that must have caught him a lot of prey over the years, he relents.

"I know what people will try to say," he tries to explain. "They will say, we saw you control the Hulk, live on TV. They'll say, you saved Iron Man. They'll say, we need you."

"And you're trying to tell me none of these things are true?"

"No," replies Bruce, swirling the remains of his food around and taking comfort in predictable patterns. "I'm saying, you might think you need me, but you don't want me. Oh, you might want me now, while the first thing in your head is how we saved the world. But each one of you is a precise weapon. You can be misdirected, but you're still directed. Me? Just call me Collateral Damage..."

"Maybe you can learn," counters Hawkeye. Bruce notes with some concern that the man didn't even flinch when he mentioned that the Avengers could be misdirected. Either he'd overestimated how much of a heart was left in there after SHIELD were through with the guy, or that was one serious mission face, almost as tight as the lid he had to keep on his own feelings.

"It didn't go so well for the last set of people who tried to condition me," Bruce warns, looking down at his food.

"Come on," replies Hawkeye, "SHIELD's not that stupid. You know that."

"Hmm?" counters Bruce. "And I suppose it's completely immune to political pressure, too?"

"Fury's going to be dining out on not having blown up Manhattan for a while yet," Hawkeye suggests. "After all, it's where quite a few influential types keep their stuff."

"And somehow you think his priority is going to be keeping them off my back?" asks Bruce.

Both of them turn immediately to the door as the sound of thrusters misfiring drifts in with the evening breeze.

"It is if he wants me to stick around," is how Tony re-introduces himself, striding through the door in his battered armour - sans helmet - with only a modicum of staggering.

"Reporting straight to your lab and then medical, I see," replies Hawkeye, dryly.

"Like you wouldn't do exactly the same," Tony asserts. "How's the glass splinters and the broken ribs doing?"

"They've waited longer before," replies Hawkeye. "You're not really thinking of slipping out the back while we're trading insults, are you, Bruce?"

"Can't blame a man for trying." Bruce had only been casually eyeing the door into the kitchen. "We both know you can't actually stop me, although I might have overestimated your compassion towards our innocent hosts."

"Unfortunately for you, kid, I don't think he's overestimated yours," Tony observes.

"Did you just call me 'kid'?" Bruce looks genuinely confused. "While I suppose I should say that I'm flattered..."

"So," interjects Hawkeye. "This is all very entertaining, but Tony's right. We're all pretty beaten up, and while my patience is considerable..."

Bruce picks up his soup bowl and swallows the rest of his meal hurriedly, like he has considerable practice in eating quickly. "Are you going to finish that?" he asks.

"Didn't you just eat a full meal about an hour ago?" Hawkeye replies. "Or is this some kind of Captain America, got to feed the muscles out of space, thing?"

"No, the other guy works off background radiation," replies Bruce absent-mindedly, swiping Hawkeye's bowl. "But wasting food is for people who know where their next meal is coming from."

"Me," declares Tony. He starts a grand gesture towards sweeping the bowl to the floor, but Hawkeye catches his eye and warns him off before he really gets started. "And all your subsequent meals, if necessary. Now, can we go? This thing is really knocked out of shape, it kind of pinches."

Bruce continues to empty Hawkeye's bowl at great speed, and then thanks the terrified-looking proprietor - or possibly waitress - in her own language, as Hawkeye puts down way more than the cost of the meal.

"Can I keep the bike?" asks Bruce, as they leave the restaurant.

"You can make your own way back, right?" Hawkeye asks Tony.

"Sure," Tony replies confidently, striking a pose and producing an unpleasant shorting-out sound in one of his leg thrusters. "Uh," he continues, shaking it experimentally, "maybe I'll be calling my car, though." He thinks for another moment. "And the phone's in the helmet."

Hawkeye looks distracted for a moment and then subvocalises a few words. "Hang tight and you should get a SHIELD pickup here in a minute."

"Oh great." Tony tries to fire his thrusters again. "Maybe I can walk."

"You have fun with that." Hawkeye gestures loosely, making it clear that Bruce can get on the bike. "I'll be right behind you," he warns, swinging himself up into the pillion position with only a small wince as he settles.

\----

"Fury seemed surprised to see me," says Bruce, fixing Hawkeye with that gently searching gaze.

"Did he now," replies Hawkeye, with studied indifference. It almost looks like he ought to have taken out a nail file and started filing his nails.

"Yes," insists Bruce, softly. "I thought you came after me on his orders."

"Did you, now," replies Hawkeye, letting the slightest hint of amusement start to creep into his tone.

"So, who did send you, then?" asks Bruce, mildly.

Hawkeye puts the imaginary nail file down and suddenly is looking him right in the eyes. Even with his customary veneer of calm carefully in place, Bruce considered taking a step backwards just from the sheer intensity of that gaze.

"Do you really think someone had to send me?" Clint asks, dangerously. "Can't I want things for myself?"

In his mind's eye, Bruce sees what will happen if he answers. Any words that he could use would be stumbling, apologetic; trying to tiptoe around the sore spot that everyone knows about but no-one dares mention. Of course Clint has his own volition. Of course Bruce didn't mean to deny him agency.

So instead of using words, Bruce just holds his gaze, and lets his eyes say - I think I understand.


End file.
